


With Ape You Get Egg Roll

by genagirl



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genagirl/pseuds/genagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim, Blair and a deadly monkey on a killing<br/>spree.  Can anything stop this unholy terror?  Yes,<br/>but you have to read it to find out who!!!!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Ape You Get Egg Roll

The red-butted sock monkey of death or With  
Ape, you Get Eggroll

By Gena 

Notes: A very warped story by a bunch of crazed  
people who are in need of professional help. this is  
the American version, there's a Brit version which  
will be out soon, now that I know what a "Humphrey"  
is. We printed a few copies of this for Media West so  
some of you might have seen it there.

Warnings: Too many to list here. If you take The  
Sentinel serious, BAIL NOW!! If you think Jim and  
Blair have a sense of humor (Blair, at least) read on.

Summery: Jim, Blair and a deadly monkey on a killing  
spree. Can anything stop this unholy terror? Yes,  
but you have to read it to find out who!!!!!

 

 

WITH APE, YOU GET EGGROLL 

 

 

"Stay back, Chief," ordered Jim  
Ellison in a commanding tone. Jaw   
muscle jumping like a flea on a hotplate, he threw out  
an arm to block the gruesome sight from  
the man behind him. 

 

It was too little, too late, and with  
an inward sigh, the big detective heard  
the subtle signs that his Guide/lover had caught a  
glimpse of the carnage strewn around the room: the  
rapid tattoo of the beloved heartbeat; the shallow  
respiration; the wet sounds of hurled breakfast   
hitting the fine Corinthian leather of the love seat  
in the corner. 

 

Resisting the urge to step closer to  
Sandburg (if he'd gotten any closer,  
Ellison would have been on the other side of the  
smaller man), he asked quietly, "You,  
okay, there, Chief?" 

 

"Yeah, yeah," gulped Sandburg, wiping  
his mouth with a handkerchief, which  
he promptly stuck in the other man's jacket pocket.  
Raising his ashen face, he directed wide, darkened,  
teal-colored eyes at his partner. "It wasn't the blood  
and guts all over the place, I swear! It's just  
that..." 

 

"I know, baby; I know," soothed the  
hulking cop softly. "It's always worse  
when it's someone you know." He spared another look at  
the mess which had once been a human  
being, and shuddered. As used as he was to scenes of   
random violence, even this one was  
getting to him and he hadn't even liked   
Cassie Wells. The body of Cascade PD's forensic chief  
and resident slut was scattered across the room, in  
pieces even smaller than her miniskirts. 

"No, Jim-you don't understand!"   
whined Blair, sweeping his loose,   
curly chestnut locks behind his ear with one sturdy,  
masculine hand. "I told you it's not  
that! Look at that shirt she's wearing; it's mine! She  
borrowed it last week, and now look at it... I'll  
never get all the blood and gore out of it-not even  
if I soak it in baking soda and peroxide for ten  
years!" Overwhelmed at the loss of his favorite  
Day-Glo, tie-dyed, smiley-face tee shirt, Sandburg  
burst into tears. 

Patting his shoulder sympathetically  
as he absently handed back the   
vomit-stained handkerchief, Ellison frowned in deep  
thought. There was something not quite  
right here...something odd... The murder scene seemed   
almost familiar, almost as if he'd seen  
it all before... 

Covertly studying himself in one  
corner of the blood-splattered mirror,  
Sandburg checked to make sure his recent crying jag  
had not left him with an unattractive  
red nose or swollen eyes. Being thus occupied, it  
wasn't until he turned around that he  
discovered the beautifully muscled mass of his lover  
standing immobile in the center of the room. "Jim, you  
okay there, man?" he questioned uncertainly. True,  
Ellison was standing there, staring blankly ahead,  
with a glazed look in the cornflower blue eyes and his  
mouth was half open, giving him the appearance of a  
slow-witted sloth, but Blair could see nothing out of  
character. 

Going up to him, he softly called his  
lover's name again, touching him   
hesitantly at the same time. When there was no  
response, Sandburg knew Jim had zoned.  
Ellison always reacted violently-and ardently-to being  
touched there, claiming it was one of his most  
sensitive erogenous zones. Personally, Blair had  
never known anyone else who insisted the left nostril  
was a major turn-on, but as an anthropologist, he knew  
it took all kinds to make a world. 

Calling on four years of experience as  
Ellison's guide, coupled with his  
soul-deep love for the man, Sandburg leaned closer,  
breathing gently.   
Closer...closer...judging the distance to the  
millimeter... "JIM!" he screamed into his partner's  
defenseless ear. He then waited patiently for the  
larger man to peel himself off the ceiling and quit  
shaking; idly amusing himself by counting body parts  
while Ellison dashed out to change his trousers. 

Meeting the other man at the door when  
Ellison came back in, he asked, "What  
is it, Jim? What made you zone?" 

Gladdened that the ringing in his ears  
had dropped to two beats per word, Jim  
answered, "It's this murder, Chief; I knew I'd seen  
something like it before. I was  
concentrating so hard on remembering, that I must've  
zoned out." 

"You mean this has happened before?"  
yelped, Sandburg, looking around   
nervously. He had never cared for serial killers,  
always being terrified that, one day, one of the  
fiends would come looking for his favorite Fruit  
Loops. "Why the hell didn't you put this maniac  
away!?" 

"I did, Chief," responded Ellison, jaw  
muscle doing the Charleston once  
again. "Or, I thought I did. He must've escaped." A  
haunted look came into his eyes and he  
reached out, grabbing Sandburg's wide shoulders  
tightly. "We have to stop him, Chief-we  
have to! It's only going to get worse and   
worse..." He shuddered again, closing his eyes. "Oh,  
the humanity!" 

"Jim! Who is it?" cried Blair, even  
more frightened than he had been when  
the vibrator shorted out on him in the bath tub. "Who  
is this fiend!?"

 

Jaw muscle twitching madly, mouth  
working, it was several minutes before  
Ellison could choke out, "TRBSMOD." 

"Huh?" queried Sandburg, looking more  
confused than normal. 

Ellison took a deep breath,  
controlling himself. "The Red-Butted Sock   
Monkey Of Death." 

"NO!!!!!" screamed Blair, breaking  
into hysterical sobs. He wailed, he   
howled, he beat his chest and rent his  
clothes...except for the smiley face shirt so  
tragically murdered....with Cassie inside. Through it  
all Jim held his lover, stroking his wet cheeks,  
murmuring sweet words of comfort and when no one was  
looking, he was also groping the younger man's groin.  
Blair sobbed for the longest time and when finally   
his weeping had subsided into the  
occasional hiccup and a series of sniffling   
which he wiped on Jim's sleeve, he looked up at  
his lover and asked in a frightened  
voice, "just what is a Red-butted Sock Monkey of Death  
anyway?"

Jim paled but managed to find his  
voice, "some say it's a legend, Chief,  
but I know for a fact it's real. When I was a rookie I  
was assigned to a murder case with an  
old cop named Ben Dover. He was a wicked old guy, full  
of tall tales and one cold and lonely night he cuddled  
me close........"

"Cuddled you close?" Blair asked.

"Uh, I meant he told me from across  
the room," Jim said, diverting his   
lover's suspicions with a quick kiss. "He told me of  
an old woman and how she had been robbed by a gang of  
sheep herders....."

"Sheep herders? Jim, are you sure  
about this story?" Blair demanded. "I   
mean this sounds kinda farfetched."

"Just listen, Chief. Now this old  
woman had never married and had no   
children. All she'd ever had was a little stuffed  
monkey her mother gave her as a child." Ellison  
lowered his voice, causing Blair to lean closer. "She  
loved that toy, named it Spanky. Well, one night these  
roving sheep herders were causing trouble in Cascade.   
They were drinking and cussing and tossing midgets.  
The old woman ran an adult video store and one of the  
gang came in looking for Scooby Does the Gang and when  
the old woman told him it had already  
been rented, he went nuts!! He rampaged through   
the place, his gang helped him destroy the  
whole store and in the end the old   
woman lay dying." 

Blair's sniffles grew louder, he hated sad stories,  
Jim had forbidden him to rent Bambi  
after a week long crying jag, "that's....that's so  
sad!" Sandburg wailed.

"It gets worse, Chief," Jim told him.  
"As the old woman lay dying, she held  
the sock monkey to her breast and cursed the gang."

"What did she say, Jim?"

"She said, 'I curse you.'"

"Oh, that wasn't very dramatic, was it,  
Jim?"

"She was dying, Sandburg. What did you  
expect? It wasn't like she had time to  
produce the ghost of Hamlet's father or anything."  
Ellison wiped away another tear which  
trickled from his lover's eyes. "Anyway, the point is   
when the cops got there they found three members of  
the gang dead and one gibbering like an idiot. He  
swore the sock monkey had come to life, screamed I AM  
THE RED-BUTTED SOCK MONKEY OF DEATH and killed the  
others." 

Blair shivered, pulling himself  
further into Jim's embrace. "And now it   
kills people?"

"Not just anyone, Blair," Jim  
comforted. "The red-butted sock monkey of   
death only kills ..."

"....little old ladies, up in their  
eighties?" the anthropologist suggested   
with a smirk, nugging the cop in the ribs with his  
elbow. 

"Poet 'n don't know it, eh, Chief?"  
chuckled the Sentinel, ruffling his   
guide's curls before Blair could jerk his head away.

"Jim! You know I hate people messing  
with my hair, Man!" That pitiful whine  
just made the cop at his side sigh, shaking his head.  
If the kid only knew how hard his  
roommate had argued to get Simon Banks to agree to let  
the student keep his wild, abundant  
locks! "So, tell me more!" Blair pumped his   
friend for information, impatiently.

"More?"

"Yeah, like details! How does the perp  
commit the murder? What kind of weapon  
was used? Anything unusual in this case...?"

Ellison glared, hearing the non-stop  
line of questions, not in the mood for  
the third degree. But Blair, being his partner, needed  
to know. "A shoe," he gave up the vital detail  
reluctantly with a serious expression.

"What was that, Big guy?"

"I said the sick sock used a shoe as a  
murder weapon! The victim had sole  
marks all over the head and neck! Bludgeoned to  
death!" Blair kept a straight face,  
barely, "Pretty 'severe", huh? Nikes' you think?",  
enjoying his own play on words.

Ellison pretended not to hear, like a  
Sentinel could actually do that! "You  
know..., shoe,...severe..,as in Nike Seve....," Blair  
started to explain, then his face took on a warm glow,  
"Go on!" Giving the cop's shoulder a fake punch , "You  
know!"

"A woman lost her life here,  
Sandburg!"

Seemingly put in his place, the kid  
nodded, "Least the sock coulda done was  
used a high heel!", he burst out laughing, unable to  
contain his giggles any longer.

"Cruel, Chief!", the detective  
sniffed, refusing to join in. Then he got   
down to the police work, "All kidding aside, Simon  
and I expect this monkey-butt character  
to kill again, soon. Sometime before May 20th! He's  
an avid couch potato, his face stuck to a TV set most  
nights."

"When he's not out killing innocent  
people!" qualified the TA. "Yeah We  
figure he killed Cassie in a fit of rage,...after  
seeing her perform. This monkey's a  
critic!"

"Aren't they all...!" Sandburg covered  
his face with his hands. "Anyway, we  
believe the monkey's next target will be the top  
executive of UPN...., schmuck by the name  
of Valentine..."

"Oh, yeah, I heard about him at the  
University! A friend of mine is   
studying these executive types to determine if they  
have any intelligence, and if they do, why they never  
seem to use that capability."

"Taking classes is he?"

"Naw, not to say he doesn't need some  
smarts! This guy isn't exactly an   
innocent, Jim, why do you think the red-butted sock  
monkey would go after him?"

"Somebody should, don't you think?"

"Well, yeah....,I mean, but ...this  
guy's dangerous!" thinking of what he'd  
heard of this exec made Sandburg shudder.

"So is the monkey!" the Sentinel  
assured his little buddy.

"So what are we gonna do?" Sandburg  
asked plaintively, hoping - vainly -  
that his Sentinel, big, bold, buff Jim, protector of  
the innocent- and not so innocent, Blair reminded  
himself with a smirk, remembering the activities that  
had taken the place of breakfast that morning, and  
most mornings, come to that - would turn his back on  
this case and hand it over to someone, anyone!, else  
before things got out of hand. He turned his best  
puppy dog eyes on.

Catching the look, Jim swayed towards  
his partner, the familiar   
mongoose-mesmerized-by-a-snake feeling sweeping over  
him as he fell into those blue, blue  
eyes. All thoughts of the Red-butted Sock Monkey  
vanished without trace as his mind, all  
too happily diverted, wondered whether anyone would  
notice the lead investigator and his partner  
disappearing from a bloody crime scene for a quick one  
in the nearest broom cupboard.

Just as Jim's hand was about to snag  
his partner's belt - Blair had a minor  
objection to Caveman Jim dragging him away by his hair  
\- when a voice boomed from behind him.   
Jim leapt like a scalded cat.

"So what are you gonna do then,  
Detective?"

"Simon! Ah…. Um…" The Sentinel  
scrambled to make his brain work again   
\- difficult when all the blood was gathering elsewhere  
in his body. "Um, er, call in expert help," he  
finally proclaimed, desperate to give any answer that  
would get him away from the scene and into that  
cupboard.

"Expert?" Blair and Simon chorused  
together. As far as they were   
concerned Jim was the expert. On everything. Blair  
sometimes wondered just how first-hand Simon's  
knowledge of Jim's expertise was - but always hastily  
pushed the thought away before his mouth decided to  
act without his brain (not an entirely uncommon  
happenstance) and ask for a demonstration from the  
two bigger men.

His head a Ping-Pong ball, Jim looked  
back and forth at the two men who gazed  
at him with eyes of utmost confidence, working his way  
through every deity he knew,  
alphabetically, to get him out of the corner he had  
gotten himself into. He'd made it all the way up the  
G's-some tribal goddess that Sandburg had lectured  
him about last time he'd ordered a cheeseburger,  
medium-rare-before he fell down. Mentally making a  
note to himself to make the two of them stand together  
next time he needed to look at them both.

He was halfway through trying to pick  
himself up and getting back on his feet  
when a swirl of material in the doorway behind Simon  
caught his eye. Mesmerized, he lay  
there, stunned. 

It took a couple of seconds for the  
Captain of Major Crimes to realize   
that Jim wasn't in one of his usual fugue states. The  
glassy eyes and gaping like a dead fish routine having  
thrown him for a second…but the whiny sounds that  
usually only starred in his Captain and his  
cabin-boy-Jim fantasies were something entirely  
different. 

"What is it, Jim? What?" The larger,  
even more buff man grabbed onto his  
submissive--er, subordinate's shoulder. 

Gulping, Jim tried to get a complete  
word out. "Naomi!"

The Guide instinct in him making him  
throw himself almost on top of Jim-and  
no other reason!, Blair told himself, sternly-the  
anthropologist turned almost-cop ran  
searching hands over his semi-prone partner. Looking  
up at Simon with melting, tear filled  
eyes. "Simon," the smaller man sobbed, making sure to  
hit just the right note so that both men in front of  
him shivered, "He's hallucinating!"

"No Chief," Jim interjected, pointing  
a shaking, but still manly hand between  
Simon's legs, "I mean-it's Naomi!"

Leaning back into the smaller, but  
still wonderfully muscled form behind  
him, Jim moved his head to the side, clearing his  
life-partners line of sight. The sound  
of his head hitting the floor for the second time that  
night drowned out by the delighted  
squeal of the man that was now making a beeline for  
the door.

"Mom!!!"

Accepting the dark hand that appeared  
in his again rapidly reclearing sight,  
Jim let himself be hauled to his feet, ruefully  
rubbing the lump on the back of his head.

"Naomi?" 

Breezing through the door, absolutely  
unmindful of the scattered bits of  
Cassie cluttering up the floor, Naomi--Call me a child  
of the '60's--Sandburg wafted into the room. Her  
clothes somehow clinging and billowing around her at  
the same time. "Sweetie!", she returned, letting her  
son pick her up and swing her with abandon. Somehow  
looking freshly coifed and undisturbed when Blair set  
her back on her feet.

"Mom!" Blair exclaimed, "What are you  
doing here?"

Carefully stepping over the bits of  
intestine…Jim wasn't entirely sure if  
the bigger stuff wasn't mostly spine…Naomi made her  
way over to the other two men, pausing  
to pat both Jim and then Simon on the cheek. Tilting  
her chin a bit to one side, the tall red-headed woman  
gave Blair a look that Jim recognized from a mile  
away…it's twin being directed at him almost every day  
since the anthropologist by his side had come into his  
life. "Well, honey…I was passing through town on my  
way, and I felt a disturbance in your  
aura. And I knew you were either involved in another  
of your messy little cases…or you'd  
been eating too much red meat. And…well…here I   
am!"

Halfway into giving his mother-in-law  
a hug, Jim was distracted. His hearing  
focusing in on a slight dragging sound that no-one  
else except the SENTINEL OF THE CITY  
could have heard. His face a sculpture of horror, yet  
still keeping that haunting look of  
perfection he perfected by hours of mirror work every  
day, Jim drug his eyes upward, piggybacking his sight  
up through the suspended ceiling over their heads.

"Jim??" He heard the plucky, yet  
worried query from his lover somewhere   
on the edge of his consciousness.

Pulling his weapon - and then picking  
it up off of the floor - Jim pushed  
Naomi into Simon's arms, pulling his Guide behind him  
as he began firing rounds into the  
speckled asbestos over their heads. Screaming, he  
tried to warn the rest of the room, "It's in the  
ceiling…holy Christ…it's over our heads!!"

The room erupted. And somehow, through  
the dust and the bodies and the flying  
ceiling panels, Jim Ellison saw a sight he would never  
forget: Naomi, once again morphing into whatever they  
needed at the moment. 

Standing, seemingly impervious in the  
middle of the room, Naomi suddenly  
charged toward the horrifying monstrosity that swung  
down through the ceiling panels, just  
out of his range, ignoring his cries for her to stop  
and come back. It was horrible. It was awful. It was  
as good of an excuse as any. Turning on a dime, Jim  
grabbed hold of Blair…somehow getting a good bit of  
Simon in the process. Pressing his hands into the  
wild curls that clung to his partner's head. Thinking  
it was awfully nice of Simon to try and protect his  
head from flying objects with his hand like that.   
But what did his captain think was going to  
hit him in the butt??

Unable to filter out the sounds, Jim  
heard every crash and clatter and thud  
that echoed out of the tiny breakfast nook. Each sound  
from behind the screen at the other end  
of the room echoed in a shudder that coursed through  
the oh so delightful, but still manly body he held  
close to his chest.

Blair was screaming, and trying to  
push him off. "Mom!….Mom!!…Oh, gods,   
Jim…Lemme go…Mom…Nooooo!" Blair wailed, "Oh,  
Mom…NOOOO!" sobbing as Jim held him  
close.

Then, as quickly as it had started…

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

And the awful, certain outcome of  
exactly what they were going to find   
washed over the three men sandwiched together. One of  
whom was trying awfully hard to figure  
out exactly why he'd been trying so hard to get away.

Suddenly awash with guilt, the curly  
headed filling of the upright Sandburg  
sandwich squished out from between the two  
stud-muffins who'd been keeping him  
upright. Missing the flurry of arms and legs and hands  
he'd left behind. Too busy staring at  
the still standing, but really ugly, decorating  
mistake from hell screen that was obstructing the view  
that he knew waited for him.

"Blair…?" His ever-present lifemate  
whispered behind him. "Stay here,   
buddy. I'll go check."

"No, Jim." Blair shook his head. The  
light glinting off curls that made the  
crime scene personnel stop in their tracks and look.  
"She's my…Mom." The  
observer choked. "I'll….I'll  
go….look…"

"Look for what, Sweetie?"

Gasping, all three men turned. Looking  
like they'd seen a ghost. Or as close  
as they were going to get to it…mystical episodic  
television not withstanding.

"Mom!!"

"Naomi??"

Blair's yelp a bit higher than the  
others, he jumped and ran. Stopping a  
few feet from the lithe woman that none of them had  
expected to see alive.

Naomi grinned, seemingly unperturbed  
by the fact that her frock was now   
reaccessorized with a dusting of gray and red threads.  
She was grinning.. Smiling from ear to  
ear. One of which she dropped back down to the floor  
when she realized it wasn't her own.

"Mom!" Blair rushed forward. Grabbing  
and hugging his mom as he twirled her  
around in his arms.

Jim approached Naomi cautiously, now  
more than ever wondering just what it  
was his mother-in-law did when she disappeared for  
months on end. "How…I mean, why…I  
mean…"

Naomi reached up and patted her son's  
significant other on the cheek,   
sidestepping the question like she always did. Smiling  
the smile that more and more Jim thought ought to be  
classified as a secret government weapon every time it  
was used on him.

"Now, boys…now that that's taken care  
of, what say we all go back to the loft  
and have a little dinner?"

"But, Naomi…" stuttered Jim, never one  
to give up when circumstances called  
for it, "…how did you…?"

"Why, Jim…you ought to know there are  
just some things it's not really polite  
to ask…" Pinning him with that look that even he  
couldn't miss.

"Go on, dears…Sweetie…I'll be out in  
just a moment"

Watching Blair lead Jim and Simon  
outside of the crime scene, Naomi went  
back to the kitchen and picked up her bag, slinging  
the oversized leather carryall over her  
shoulder, scanning eyes which really never missed a  
thing over the few people remaining at the scene,  
listening to her son lecture as he waited in the hall.  
A sweet smile of serenity passing over her face as  
she looked down and adjusted a few things. Her finger  
running a quick circle over the small pin she usually  
wore somewhere discreetly. The initials she didn't  
need to read anymore to understand rising up to rub   
over the pad of her finger.

KoRBSMOD.

Letting her smile go a little wider,  
she patted the small head that raised  
up out of her purse before it ducked back down, as  
she zipped the handbag closed, looking  
for all the world as if she didn't have a care in the   
world. Not easy to do when little bits  
of lint covered you from head to toe. Not to mention  
the little red bits of goo that marred the shoes that   
were new just last week.

Making her way to the front door of  
the now renter-less apartment, she   
'accidentally' ran her shin into the gurney waiting to  
be taken out of the door. Looking for all the world as  
if she'd stumbled and mistakenly hit the edge of the  
coroners cart.

Mumbling, she murmured low words at  
the bag that rested on the surface. Not  
noticing, since she was facing away from the door how  
one person's head jerked up…and looked  
at her askance. 

'…that'll teach you to come sniffing  
after my son-in-law, you insipid,   
wretched, unprofessional, badly dressed no-talent  
Bitch…' Accepting the bit of negative karma with a  
sigh.

Turning, she floated toward the door,  
taking a moment to wonder just why Jim  
was looking at her the way he was…and then putting it  
behind her without a thought, sliding  
her hand onto Simon's offered arm as she preceded her  
son and Jim down the hall. Smiling up into the  
handsome Captain's face as she felt her bag shift on  
her hip.

"So what do you say, dears? Some tongue??  
I've got an early morning flight to  
LA.…"

Sometimes the Keeper of the Red-butted Sock Monkey of  
Death had a very busy schedule. She cast a quick  
glance down at her list. why, she still had Ally,  
Felicity, Dharma AND Greg as well as the entire cast  
of Dawson’s Creek to get to before she could rest.   
Yep, this was proving to be a very busy season.


End file.
